Classic Stigma
by neppie
Summary: Scars from the last battle leaves Harry uncomfortable with himself and with Draco as they try to take their relationship deeper. HD slash yaoi. Complete.
1. one

Title: Classic Stigma

Author: Nepenthe

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Genre: Drama

Format: Finished multipart

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Some swearing.

Disclaimer: I own Harry's new scars and Luna's advice. Nothing more.

Summary: One has to grow up in order to understand what love is all about. Harry is struggling with the maturity of his and Draco's relationship, along with dealing old haunts and fears, with only Hermione and Luna's advice to guide him.

"The first person you have to accept is yourself." - Luna Lovegood

Harry sat on his dorm bed, distractedly tying up his shoes as he looked at himself in the mirror in front of him. His shirt laid waiting behind him, his reflection's bare chest drinking in the morning light coming through the window. Unfortunately, especially in Harry's disgusted eyes, the sun captured all the old scars that dotted along his back, chest, and stomach and enhanced them, making them see more distorted and ghastly. Harry bit his lip as he dropped his tied foot back to the floor, eyes wandering over his skin with an expression of hopelessness and grim acceptance. Harry never thought himself very cute or very bright. All Harry saw when he looked in the mirror was dry, messy hair, big, ugly glasses, pale skin, and his body littered with scars. While some were mere dents on the surface, others had lifted and collected like dead skin. Harry traced one now, the one along his stomach that led the way from his hip to his naval. He had received that not from a spell, but from a Deatheater's hooked hand. The pain was a distant memory, but Harry recalled himself collapsing to the ground and screaming, because he was sure his stomach was going to fall right out of the deep cut. Blood had poured out of the wound, like a waterfall of red and Harry had clutched at it, hoping that if he cupped his hands into a big enough bowl, he could probably lay back and pour all his contents back in.

Now it was just an ugly scar.

Another one was not an ordinary scar and it about covered the majority of Harry's upper back. Thankfully, a high enough shirt just barely covered the beginning of the markings. He had received that plane of distorted flesh on Voldemort's last reign, when he was captured and tortured. He remembered being strapped facedown on some sort of table, his Weasley sweater clinging to him in hot sweat. They didn't bother to remove it when they cast the Burning curse on him. At first Harry felt only hot. But then, he began to burn, and it burned from the inside. They told him between breaks (to keep him conscious, he supposed) that it would eventually surface on some part of his body. It had surfaced on his back and like fire, it had sizzled the flesh away and melted the sweater right into Harry's flesh. It had begun to surface on a small part of his thigh, greedily sucking in the pattern of his jeans, before Luna broke free and rescued him. They half stumbled (but mostly crawled) their asses out of the castle to only make it to the courtyard. That was when Voldemort decided to appear.

Harry shook his head, twisting his shoulder slightly to look at that particular flesh on his back. It had burned and healed in the pattern of the sweater he was wearing that day, like a constant reminder etched in blood and pink flesh. The last scar Voldemort left him. It looked like something you wake up with, the after effects of sleeping in your clothes, and it would eventually fade away into smooth skin; Harry's never did though, and no cure was available to make it go away.

Sighing against the ugly sight, Harry turned away quickly and snatched his shirt, pulling it on just in time for Hermione to knock and peek her head through the door.

"Hey Harry," she said, offering a wavering smile. "The carriage is here and waiting. You about ready?"

"I'm ready," he replied, grabbing his wand from the nightstand. She frowned slightly, but said nothing, and left the doorway with her footsteps skipping down the winding stairs. Harry took one more glance in the mirror as he put on his watch before, with a cluck of disgust, he threw a blanket over it.

Harry probably wouldn't have cared too much about his appearance - it was an inevitable fact he accepted a long time ago that he was just another ugly kid. The only problem with this reality was that - and Harry had a very hard time believing this - he actually had someone in his life that found him appealing. Or maybe he just liked having him around or something. Harry frowned as he walked down the stairs. Nonetheless, they liked him and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. Not that he was complaining, of course. He just found it very...weird. In a happy gooey way.

"About bloody time," the said person snapped as Harry appeared, but it lacked its usual malice.

Harry smiled shyly at Draco Malfoy, before shaking his head at the large and expensive get-up he was dressed in. He wore a long, shimmering black cloak (the obvious effects of many different spells) with a formal black tie, dark green shirt, and slacked pants. It made the rest of them look completely shabby in their jeans, T-shirts, and school cloaks. Hermione had tried to make her hair a bit presentable, which worked, but it looked like it would be a useless effort since it was about to rain. Ron was dressed in one of his mother's homemade sweaters that Harry had a hard time not flinching at. The bright red color of it was a strong reminder and Harry briefly smelled burnt flesh, his scars hissing for a moment, before the memory was gone. Ron had suddenly gone white.

"Oh, _shit_," he whispered, looking down at his shirt before at Harry. The Boy Who Lived smiled weakly. "Let me...Let me just change..." And he ran upstairs quickly before Harry could protest, keeping his eyes ducked with shame as he passed him. Draco snorted and if he found anything odd about the moment, he didn't show it. Harry didn't have the spirit to tell everyone about his back, but he definitely didn't have the heart to tell two other people in his life. One being Mrs. Weasley, who would surely feel it all her fault if she knew it was the sweater she made him that caused all those markings on his skin. The second was Draco. In fact, Draco didn't know anything about the scars on Harry's body. Because, for one, Harry didn't tell him about it (and only few knew) and second, Harry refused to let Draco touch him and find out. Somehow, Harry had been able to keep their relationship very...innocent.

"She wouldn't want you to be so dressed up like that," Harry told Draco, coming down the stairs the rest of the way with a soft smirk on his lips.

"Well, I guess I could always borrow Weasley's jumper," Draco drawled with his eyes rolling. "Red is very appealing on me and I've always had a soft spot for the letter 'R'."

"Red would look horrible on you."

"I look great in anything, Potter, so please restrain your jealousy."

It was Harry's turn to snort, so he was caught off guard when Draco leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the lips. Blinking with surprise behind his glasses, Harry was sure his cheeks were becoming like the red glow of Ron's shirt. Hermione's little 'yes!' was dampened by Ron's trampling feet as he came down the stairs, and his voice screaming, "I'm ready!"

That was Harry and Draco's first kiss.

"Well, funerals are silly. Everyone stands around a lost loved one and talks about how great he or she is, but they can't hear how much they will be missed. Shouldn't you tell this person how great they are before it's too late?" - Luna Lovegood

It rained while they were in the carriage but by the time they got to the graveyard it had stopped, much to Hermione's pleasure. It died quickly though as they joined the few members at the site. They moved in a collected mass of black robes - Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Ginny. They were silent as they climbed the hill, as if paying their respects, but Harry's mind was whirling with her voice and her words - all the last things she said to him while they waited to die in the dungeons. But mostly, he remembered the promise he gave her that day. He knew he had to honor it. But for some reason, he found his insides quivering with a nervous ache; he didn't know if he could find the strength to do her last wish.

"I'll make you a promise then," Harry said as he looked back at her. "I won't let anyone do that to you and you won't let anyone do that to me."

Because, in reality, they both thought they wouldn't survive to honor those wishes in the end.

Harry was once again grateful for Draco's presence - well, mostly his hand. He squeezed it as he moved to the coffin, breaking through the throng of people already there. The coffin she was in was charmed invisible so that they could still see the body inside. Harry had attended very few funerals in his life, but for the ones he had seen, the bodies had always been pasty white and very stiff. But Harry was surprised to see that there was still color in her cheeks and that her head was tilted to the side, resting against the pillows like she was asleep. One arm was crossed up her stomach with her hand resting on her chest, fingers clutching her restored wand. Her other arm was by her side, her fingers just barely touching the phoenix feather lying by her...Fawkes had donated that.

Harry smiled sadly at the image. Harry heard from many people that when they saw a loved one during a funeral, it looked like they were just sleeping. She was the perfect picture of that. With her head tilted, her hair lying lazily around her in a curtain of blonde-white curls, and resting in her favorite yellow dress, Harry could almost fool himself into squinting and watching her chest rise and fall. A soft ache began in Harry's chest and tickled the back of his throat.

He sniffed and Draco squeezed his hand.

"Would anyone like to say a few words?"

No one spoke at first and a wind passed by, swiping the clouds away from the sky so that sun peeked out and bore down hotly on the backs of their collected necks. Draco stirred uncomfortably next to Harry, drawing himself a bit closer, and Harry felt his throat close up just as he was about to say something. Hermione finally spoke, though, and Harry felt guilty relief.

"Luna was unique," Hermione started strong, her voice trying for fond mirth, but it broke in the end. Tears immediately filled her eyes. She tried blinking them away, sniffling, and in a rare moment of compassion, Ron put a hand under her elbow, as if to guide her.

"Luna was unique," Hermione tried again. "And no matter what you told her, she stood by what she believed in. Let they be things that don't exist-," she gave a tearful laugh at that one, wiping away tears from her cheeks, "-or people against her friends."

Harry felt a knife twist in his stomach. He didn't know if it was from Hermione's words or Luna's echoing last wishes.

Hermione tried to go on, but her voice died in her throat. Ron offered her his cloak and she laughed softly, using it to wipe away her tear-streaked face.

"She was always nice," Neville said softly. "Even when people weren't the same to her."

Harry put a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming and he felt Draco's eyes on him. An unexplainable rage was building in Harry's chest, washing up to his throat to release itself on everyone, and his hand shook in Draco's grasp as he tried to keep it in.

"So, this is it."

"I'm sorry, Luna..."

"I'm not."

You promised, Harry thought to himself. You promised her that you wouldn't let them do this to her.

"She always used to say," Luna's father began and everyone's eyes trained on him, including Harry's, "that she was going to do something worthwhile, something that would help change or shape the world. I didn't think that it was going to be like-," he stopped, and shook his head, not bothering to wipe the few tears hanging off his cheekbones. "When she said that, I thought she was going to do it...do it some other way."

Harry felt like the breath was knocked out of him and Hermione made a little noise from the back of her throat.

"But now..." her father continued and he looked at Harry. "Now I'm glad she didn't."

Harry was sure that he was never going to be able to breathe again, his lungs emptying out their last breath in a whoosh.

"No matter how much I will miss her," he said with strength. "I know that it was all for the best in the end."

Harry thought he saw Hermione's knees give out but when he glanced over all he saw was Ron holding her against his chest, her face pressed against his cloaked shoulder. She was very still; her shoulders ceased shaking, and seemed to Harry even deader than Luna's corpse in the coffin. After a moment though, she straightened and Ron let her go quickly.

"It made me really angry."

There was a moment's silence, people trying to recollect themselves, and Harry ducked his eyes from Mr. Lovegood's piercing gaze and Draco's questioning eyes. Harry was angry too but not like everyone else. Not like Mr. Lovegood, who was angry that his only daughter was gone. Not like Ron and Hermione, who thought it was unjust for her to die. Not like Draco, who burned with an anger Harry couldn't describe. He was angry at himself for not stopping this from happening. And he was angry that no one else knew Luna's one true fear. If they cared for her so much, how was it that he was the only one that knew her last wish? Everybody was waiting for the next person to speak, looking around each other with guilty expressions as they scrambled for the next thing to say against Mr. Lovegood's confession. Harry wanted to sneer at them, because he knew that none of them really _knew _Luna whatsoever. He hated them. It was this anger, this loathing for himself and the disgust for everyone around him that made Harry step forward. He shook his hand free from Draco's clasp.

"Luna," he started and heads whirled around to look at him with surprise. "Luna was all of those things. And more. She also wasn't a fake. She told the truth, the way she saw it, and went against the mainstream to achieve something different from everyone else." Anger. Anger, it was eating him up and spitting him out in front of all these people. "Yes, she was nice, but she wouldn't soften the words of her opinion to make you feel better." He glanced at Neville, whose eyes ducked when Harry looked at him. He didn't realize his eyes were hard and cold. "And yes, she followed her beliefs." He looked at Hermione who stared right back at him between her red-rimmed eyes. "But more importantly, she gave her belief in herself to others. On the night she died..." Everyone seemed to take a sharp breath. Harry had never talked about it. "On the night that she died, she gave me her beliefs and I'm going to honor them."

He looked around at all of them before flickering his gaze back down at her sleeping face.

"She would hate this," he spat in a whisper and everyone stirred around him. He continued regardless and smiled tightly at her coffin, raising his voice. "On the night that she died, she told me that she didn't understand funerals." His voice had turned accusatory, against his will. Why didn't people know this about Luna? This was probably her most important feature and no one seemed to know about it. It made Harry ache with sadness and loss. But it was burned him with fury. "She said she couldn't understand why people would share their feelings and thoughts over a loved one once they're dead, when they had years to say something to their face. When they could hear it."

Harry looked up again at the people around him, daring them to lower their eyes when he stared at them. "I only knew Luna for about three years. And I told her how great I thought she was." Did you ever? "I told her all about the great deeds she had done and what a wonderful person she was going to grow up to be." He paused, his heart aching and his eyes beginning to sting; whether they were tears or wretched fury, he couldn't tell. "But the one thing I never got to tell her was how grateful I was for her friendship." Harry had to pause. He didn't mean to confess that. It just slipped out of his mouth. But now everyone was staring at him, urging him to continue in their sadistic ways. His anger began to deflate as he opened his mouth. "Because...by the time I knew how much I valued it, she had already given her life to save me."

He heard something crumble to the ground behind him and he knew it was Hermione. Other than that, everything was completely silent. Not even the wind dared to move and everyone's eyes were still boring into him, seeming to search him. But he knew now that they were searching themselves, recollecting any memories of Luna, trying to find out if they ever told her what they thought of her. Neville was biting his nails. Ron was staring at Hermione who had her face in her hands. Harry knew few would find anything.

"It was her gift," he said softly. "She told me that it was her gift to me. And I never got to thank her for it."

People began sobbing quietly, including Luna's father who finally was trying to wipe away the tears falling from his eyes.

"That's all I need to say to her," Harry continued and was surprised to find that he was the only person not crying. "Even though she can't hear it. I hope that all of you...at some point or another...were able to tell her how much you cared for her. Because that's all she ever wanted." He thought about saying more, but his anger had died a long time ago and so his voice followed it. He found himself deflating, suddenly tired and drained. People continued to cry around them and Harry found himself despising it because he couldn't understand what they were crying for. He could only think that they were crying over themselves, over their lost chance to tell Luna what kind of person she was. And Harry, having told her everything he liked about her, found himself unable to shed a tear for her. He looked around at everyone one more time, took a single, long glance at Luna's peaceful corpse, before turning around and walking away.

When he stormed away, he didn't take notice of the shadow following shortly behind him until it took his hand. Surprised, Harry looked down at their clasped hands and recognized the pale, flawless skin instantly, but he still looked up. He was startled again into a stop when he looked into Draco's face. For when he had looked around at everyone's teary figure, he had missed Draco standing behind. He had missed and been distracted by the disgust and knowledge that they had never told Luna anything. He walked away and never took notice of Draco...until now.

Draco gave him a soft smile. His eyes were dry and red free.

Inside, Harry felt himself shatter into a million pieces and it was the greatest feeling in the world. In that breaking moment, Harry leaned forward as they walked away and returned the kiss Draco had given him that morning.

Draco just smiled.

"I don't need to hide anything." - Luna Lovegood

Another month had passed in Harry's last year at Hogwarts and things were beginning to go back to normal. As normal as they could manage anyway. Harry and Ron still neglected their homework to the last moment. Hermione continued to be the smartest girl in class. Draco made sure he could use his witty tongue for every possible moment. With Voldemort gone and the Deatheaters arrested, the school gave a collected sigh of relief and continued on with lighter steps.

Harry seemed to drag behind.

With N.E.W.T.S. just around the corner, Harry had to find time for studying, being with his friends, Quidditch, and now, Draco Malfoy. Sometimes, it was a little stressful, but it failed to compete with Harry's sixth year when Voldemort had gained control in the Ministry, and had sent thousands to kill the legendary Harry Potter. _That_ was stressful. Schoolwork, friends, and boyfriends were a shudder on a tiny pond.

Harry stared at the fire in the Gryffindor common room, sleepy eyes half-closed as Hermione sat nearby, engrossed in a book. Ron had given up with a few other sixth years and had trampled upstairs for bed, but Harry stayed, waiting for the common room to finally be empty.

Harry cast his green gaze at Hermione's bent head as she flipped another page, looking over her figure with glazed eyes. Feeling him staring at her, she lifted her head slightly.

"What is it, Harry?"

When he didn't say anything immediately, she closed the book with a well-earned creak and drew the binds to her chest, staring back at him with wide, open eyes.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Are you?"

She blinked, offering a small laugh. "Of course." She made a move to stand but Harry leaned forward from the confines of his chair, and put restraining fingertips on her wrist. She stilled.

"There's nothing you can do now, you know," he told her, and he couldn't believe that he was giving Hermione advice. "It's over. The war is over."

She didn't reply and Harry took back his hand, studying her profile when she turned her face away from him. The lights of the fire had darkened the bags underneath her eyes, and the warm touch of the fire seemed to suck away the life from her skin, making her look paler. Her hair was one big tangle, a big puff around her face, and needed a desperate cutting. In the last month, Harry had watched Hermione take to her studies like a man trying to drown. Only she was smart enough to keep kicking and knew how to stay afloat. She'd surface from one book and then dive into the next. Harry was waiting for the day when she would no longer have the strength to raise her angled neck from the crusty pages.

"I'm responsible," she said softly, playing with the ends of the book and looking down at the ground. "I shouldn't have let her go with you."

"Hermione -"

"NO!" She shouted and both of them were startled by the volume of her voice. She looked sheepish, a hand covering her mouth, and Harry had moved back into his seat.

"No," she said softer. "I should have been the one to go with you."

Harry's voice gave out on him and he tried to find the right words to say, but nothing seemed to come forth.

"I knew something was wrong," she continued. "I knew that something was going to happen, but like a coward, I stayed behind. I should have told her to stay."

"Why?" Harry asked. "I don't...understand..."

"I'm your friend! I should have stayed with you!"

"Luna was my friend too," he pointed out, slightly angry.

"No!" She said, frustrated. Harry's eyes narrowed and started to stand up.

"I don't have to listen to this-" he snarled angrily, disgusted that Hermione refused to accept Luna after all they had gone through.

"No, Harry!" She grabbed his sleeve in desperation and clung on, looking up at him. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?" Harry barked, starting to shake his wrist to be free of her.

"I meant-" and she started to cry brokenly, causing Harry to stop trying to shove her away. "I meant that I sent both of my friends out there and-" She covered her mouth, releasing Harry and turned away from him. Harry blinked down at her. Both?

"I knew better..." she whispered between her shaking hands. Harry moved slowly to his knees and put his hands on Hermione's shaking shoulders, turning her around and drawing her to his chest. She came willingly, her wet fingers clinging to her best friend's shirt.

"You're so strong, Harry," she rambled, shaking her head and sobbing loudly. Harry put a hand in her hair, stroking the puffy hair awkwardly. "You can always take care of yourself, but Luna..."

Harry didn't understand what Hermione was trying to say. He wasn't strong either.

"I sacrificed her..." she confessed within the fabric of his shirt. Harry looked down at Hermione. "I pointed at the door and told her to go die, when it should have been me."

"Hermione..." Harry's breath came out in another whoosh, shaking his head against the remarkable conclusion Hermione had drawn up herself. He hugged her to him, laying his cheek on the top of her head in comfort, gazing into the fire and listening to her sobs.

"Forgive me, Harry..." Hermione begged, her body trembling within his hands. "Please, Harry, forgive me. I will never be a coward again...I will stand by you always, just please, forgive me..."

Harry's arms tightened around her, closing his eyes, and burying his face into her brown hair. "I forgive you, Hermione."

"Anything plain can be lovely." - Luna Lovegood

Me? Strong? Harry thought later that night, lying awake in his bed and listening to his schoolmates' snores. He swallowed thickly on the thought, rolling over onto his side. He wasn't strong...he was just incredibly lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have Hermione, Ron, Ginny...and Draco. He couldn't believe Hermione was blaming herself for Luna's death. He didn't understand how she had come to such a ridiculous conclusion. It was mind-boggling and he knew that it wasn't anybody's fault but his. He was, of course, the reason for all the deaths, for all the heartache and pain. He was also the end of it. He ended Voldemort's tyranny when he was just a baby, but he was also the reason for his return. He was responsible for the many deaths and many sacrifices they gave when they fought for him and protected him. It was because of him that another war started. But it was because of him that it had ended. Harry was sure that none of this ever would have happened if he had died with Voldemort, died with his parents, sixteen years ago.

But then...he wouldn't have Ron, Hermione...Draco.

He was thankful for his two friends, thankful in a guilty way that it was Luna who had died, and not Hermione. He wasn't sure he would have been able to cope with Hermione's death and secretly, Harry thought Luna knew that. If he had a chance to save one for the other, it would have been Hermione. It didn't mean, though, that Harry didn't cherish Luna - because he did. Cherished her in a completely different way then Hermione. Luna had filled a small hole in Harry that he didn't realize he had until she was there. It was a microscopic hole, like a dent, on his conscious, control, and childhood morals. Luna had taken pieces of her soul and filled it up with determination; a determination that Harry knew she would have used to make sure Harry sacrificed her instead of Hermione.

And Harry was grateful for his friend's loyalty to him. Surely, after first year, they should have dumped him and gave up all the trouble of being his friend. They would have saved themselves a lot - he knew his friendship wasn't worth it. But they hadn't. For some crazy reason, they stayed by him and fought with him. And Harry was sure now that without them, he would have died a long time ago...

But Draco. Now, Draco confused Harry to impossible ends. It wasn't until the end of sixth year that Harry found out about Draco's switched loyalties. It was an unnerving matter, especially considering when he woke up at the Order and went downstairs for breakfast to find Draco sitting there enjoying Mrs. Weasley's homemade orange juice. Old insults were exchanged, followed quickly by a fistfight that Lupin had the honor to end. Harry was sure that Draco was just a spy, his suspicion furthering when special information of the Order's plans had leaked to Voldemort. He had accused Draco outright at dinner sometime during the summer and Draco had only smirked in response. But Harry remembered that after that day those eyes became very cold when they rested on him, a frozen disgust that seemed to wound Harry more then Draco's words ever could.

The only person who was nice to Draco for the majority of that summer had been Luna Lovegood. She and her father had joined the Order after 5th year's events and had become a very close friend to the trio. Ron, for a long time, had a very hard crush on her, but never acted upon it. Hermione said that Luna had returned the feelings at one point in time, but when Ron refused to act on it, she had moved on easily. That was how Luna was, Harry thought fondly. Although she felt very strongly in a burst of emotion, she was the only person in the group who could easily move on when needed to. Harry respected her for that. That respect did go down a couple of points though when Luna seemed to be very keen on Draco. He hated it when she would defend him in a cold, ruthless way, because not only was her tongue incredibly sharp when she wanted it to be, but because when she berated them, she did it in such a way that it made Harry feel like he was two years old. She made them all feel childish and selfish, before sweeping out of the room in a graceful wave that not even Draco could imitate.

Turned out, she was right.

It came to a painful price for Draco - for everyone to believe his loyalty. As they had lain crumbled on the ground after Lucius's well cast Crucio curse, withering and gasping, Hermione had made a final effort to protect Harry from Avada Kadava by laying herself over his body. In that split second of hesitation on Lucius's part, Draco had slipped into the room and without a thought had cast the deadly curse to his father's turned back. As the Deatheater fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, Luna began to cry. It was the only time Harry would see her shed tears.

To get where Harry was today had not been an easy task for him or Draco. When Harry came to Draco in guilt, Draco had refused him. When he tried again in anger, Draco snapped back. When Harry came the last time with pity, Draco had punched him. It was only when Draco came to Harry that their tentative friendship began under a cold sky with the heavens painted in residue magic. Their relationship deepened after shared battles, and they only confessed each other's feelings for one another by...not saying anything at all. Instead, one day, Draco had taken Harry's hand in the hallway. Harry let him keep it, and again the next day, and again the next day...

Harry's stomach twisted, feeling a little panicky, and he rolled over onto his back again to see if he could breathe better that way. He liked Draco, he was pretty sure of that. But every time he thought about them going further in their relationship, Harry would get so nervous, he'd make himself sick. He knew that it was what they were supposed to do, if they wanted a relationship to last. To hug, kiss, and eventually have sex. But Harry felt that he could never be ready for that. Never go any further then holding hands and maybe sharing an innocent kiss or two. He feared he lacked the skills to perform any intimate act, and he feared his body most of all. Because it was _ugly_. There was no possible way for Draco to even want to touch it if he knew what was underneath all the clothes.

Harry began to feel sick again.

He wanted Draco to like his body, wanted Draco to accept all the ugly scars like they weren't even there, but Harry knew it was impossible to ignore them. He could just imagine Draco running his hands over his bare back and the look of disgust that he would try to mask. Harry couldn't _do_ that. Couldn't deal with his disgusting body lying next to Draco's surely flawless finish. He knew Draco loved beautiful things, cherished them in a possessive way. Sometimes it made Harry wonder what the fuck Draco was thinking, dating him. If Draco only knew, he _knew_ he wouldn't want him anymore.

Harry just wasn't sure how long he could keep those fondlings at bay before it all fell apart and Draco left him.


	2. two

Title: Classic Stigma

Author: Nepenthe

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Genre: Drama

Format: Finished multipart

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Some swearing.

Disclaimer: I own Harry's new scars and Luna's advice. Nothing more.

"Friday at last!" Ron breathed, head falling thankfully on the table in worship, and just nearly missing the mashed potatoes. Hermione tucked them away safely, casting an annoyed glance at Ron's red hair before going back to her dinner.

"Harry!" Ron straightened up brightly, grabbing his best friend's sleeve in case the boy decided to make a quick getaway from the mischievous look in his eye. "Don't tell Hermione, but Fred and George have stocked up their own alcohol cabinet and want to throw a party in celebration of opening a store at Hogsmeade! Want to come?"

"Hermione's sitting right behind you," Harry felt responsible to point out. Ron turned around quickly in surprise, looking straight into Hermione's frosty glare and gulping audibly.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione snapped. "Not only are you two under-aged, but both of you are supposed to be role models!" ("Yeah, we can be role models for the Don't Drink and Drive campaign!") ("RON!") "And just because it's a Friday, it doesn't mean you can relax on your studies. N.E.W.T.S are coming soon, in case you FORGOT, Ron, and you have NO more time to goof off—"

Ron buried himself in his arms as Hermione ranted on, her cheeks flushed red in anger when Ron tried to plug his ears during her speech about responsibility. He looked over miserably at Harry, who grinned cheekily in return and took a large bite out of his pork.

"Sometimes, being beautiful is the most uncomfortable thing in the world." - Luna Lovegood

Harry had never been to a real party before. Sure, Gryffindor have roaring good times after a successful Quidditch match, full of butterbeer and retelling of their favorite events, with music in the background and shy kisses in dark corners. But, obviously, Harry had been missing something, because compared to the party he was at now, those things were like birthday parties with games like pin the tail on the donkey. Harry was pretty sure that every sixth and seventh year student from every house was there. There was a throng of hot bodies, dancing and moving, and laughing hysterically as someone let off one of the Weasleys' toys that they just bought. Fred and George must have been making tons of money from all the things people bought that one night, easily taking care of the bill for all the alcohol supplied freely. The selection was vast and embarrassingly, Harry found him shying away from the extremely hard liquor and grabbing something more fruity and tasteful instead. He had only had one and a half bottles and he was feeling the effect already with his vision blurring and fuzzy light-headedness washing over him. He had no idea what state he would be in if he was with Ron across the room, slamming down shots with his brothers, and cheering with the growing crowd. Seamus was helpful to point out to Harry that he was a lightweight and wisely suggested that if he didn't want to pass out, stay away from anything that was forty percent and higher.

Harry squinted at his bottle just to make sure and raised his eyes. Only five percent in this thing? Harry wondered in shock.

"I'm such a weakling," Harry admonished out loud, wide-eyed.

"Yes," someone said from behind him. "You're the kind of person people like to get insanely drunk so they can have their wicked way with them."

Harry turned around slowly, feeling like his head was filled up with cotton balls and raised an eyebrow at his smirking partner. Harry knew he should appreciate how good Draco looked in that cloak Harry got him, or admire the way the firelight was highlighting his hair, but it seemed like such stupid things to concentrate on when the entire package looked fine. Harry squinted slightly, staring at Draco with such concentration that it made his boyfriend raise an eyebrow.

"You're not hammered already, are you?" Draco asked curiously. Harry shook his head quickly, and things in the corner of his eyes swayed out of focus.

"No," Harry said lamely. "I'm just...fuzzy?"

"Fuzzy?" Draco smirked slightly.

"And my legs," Harry pointed at them, in case Draco forgot where his legs were. Obviously he did, because he didn't even look down at them. "They're kind of tired. I want to sit down."

Harry took another drink carefully, not wanting to spill it all over himself in front of his companion. That would be _embarrassing_. Surprisingly, though, Harry was finding himself not caring overly much. He just didn't want to do it, was all.

"Well, then sit," Draco supplied helpfully. Harry looked around him, surprised that he didn't think of that sooner. However all the chairs were taken. Sit on the floor? Harry knew that probably wasn't the best idea, but then again, it did make sense. It wasn't like he was breaking a law and his legs WERE getting a little shaky. So Harry moved to plop down on the floor, when Draco laughed and grabbed his arm.

"Come on, you silly git," Draco said somewhat affectionately. "We'll go down into the basement. Want another drink?"

Harry mutely held up his bottle, staring at Draco's pretty eyes, but they were kind of blurry. He squinted again.

"This sucks," Harry said when Draco turned away to snatch another bottle from the table. When he turned around, he merely raised an eyebrow and started to lead Harry through the shifting mass of drinking students.

"What sucks?" Draco asked.

"I can't see you," Harry said honestly, making Draco stumble slightly when he looked at him. "I can't really see anything. Its just like it's going by and I want it to stop for a second. STOP." Harry held out a hand in front of him to see if the world would grow still for him. Instead, people just laughed at another silly joke and the two continued to wade through to the back.

"How many have you had?" Draco teased. Harry tensed slightly, a bright blush appearing on his face as he realized that he was only on his second beverage and he was obviously drunk. For the first time in his life.

"Ten," Harry said confidently.

"Liar."

Draco helped Harry down the stairs, though he wasn't sloshed enough to stumble all the way down. He just took them slowly, but Harry thought he was doing an amazing job at it. He was going straight and everything. See, he wasn't drunk, silly Draco, he was perfectly able to hold his liquor.

"Whoa," Harry gurgled as he nearly slipped on the last step and clung onto Draco. His boyfriend laughed and without dislodging Harry's death grip on him, helped him to the couch in the basement. It was dark down here, with candles all around to illuminate the room as little as possible. All around them as they went to get a seat were snogging couples, not even noticing Harry and Draco's arrival. Harry looked around them nervously as he slowly took a seat on the well-used couch. He was a bit tipsy, that was true, but he wasn't slammed enough to have his consciousness washed away and be playing Quidditch somewhere. It had been centered on walking down those stairs, it had focused on Draco for the past ten minutes, and it was now zeroing in on the uncomfortable position he _knew_ he was in. He was expected to make out with Draco down here, he was sure. And Harry also knew he was not drunk enough for this kind of conscious step.

Tilting the bottle back, Harry quickly finished off the bottle.

Draco, on the other hand, seemed to be completely relaxed against the nervous Harry Potter and was eyeing him contently. He leaned himself against the arm of the couch, feet on the cushions and knees bent as he stretched out his arms behind him.

"Want the other bottle?"

"Yeah..." Harry gulped, putting the empty one down between his feet. Draco handed it over mutely, leaning his cheek against his fist. "These are actually pretty good."

"Witch's beer," Draco said with a smirk. Harry blushed, not bothering to hide it because he was sure he couldn't see it in such bad lighting. Actually, with the beer and the low light, Harry found himself not being overly self-conscious. In the near dark like this, Draco couldn't see Harry's glasses, big eyes, and any scars...if they happened to get that far, of course. It made Harry relax a bit, leaning against the back of the couch lazily to drink away and stare openly at Draco's silhouette.

"I prefer wine myself," Draco continued and ran a hand through his hair. Even in the near darkness, it still glowed.

"Don't they have any?" Harry asked, confused.

"Yes."

"Well...why aren't you having any?"

"I didn't come here to get drunk, Potter."

Harry took a very quick gulp of his beverage.

"You...uh...don't like being drunk?"

Draco's mere shadow shrugged. "I have nothing against it."

"So you don't mind...if I..." Harry started, not really sure what he was trying to say. But Draco seemed to and Harry saw the white of his teeth when he smiled.

"Harry," Draco said. "If anybody had more reasons to go to the bottle, it would be you." Harry flushed, and took a smaller sip from the bottle. "No, I don't mind if you get hammered, as long as you don't throw up on me."

Harry's eyes felt very heavy at that point, so he closed them and leaned his head back. He wasn't really tired or maybe he wasn't willing to fall asleep, but he knew he felt very relaxed with Draco in this dark room, talking quietly, until he heard the gentle rustle of clothing, the soft moan, and the shifting of bodies on chairs, couches, and boxes.

"Are you falling asleep, Harry?" Draco's voice was hushed. Maybe he was listening to what was happening around them too.

"Kind of," Harry answered sheepishly.

"Here." Harry felt Draco's hand on his arm, drawing him over. For some reason, Harry came willingly and let Draco push him down to rest on his chest and between his stretched legs. Taking a couple more gulps out of his drink, Harry let himself cuddle underneath Draco's chin and closed his eyes again. In this dark, dark place, it felt very nice. Almost like Harry wasn't himself, but somebody else...who was beautiful like Draco and that everything was right in the world. Somebody in the room shifted noisily and then there was music coming from the darkness, making Harry smile. It drowned out the sounds of the other people, securing Harry to the knowledge that they were all alone and Draco really liked him. With alcohol coursing happily through his veins and muddling his brain, Harry felt insanely happy and assured him that ugly or not, Draco was with him because he liked his personality (or something). And that felt very comforting.

Draco kissed Harry on the forehead softly, causing the boy to smile again and snuggle closer to let him know he appreciated it. Then another kiss landed, somewhat lower, and Harry's heart began to beat a little faster in suspicion. Now another kiss was planted between his eyebrows and Harry knew that Draco wanted something, wanted to go further down, and do what everyone else in the room was doing. Butterflies suddenly appeared in Harry's stomach and he opened his eyes nervously to the dark. Could he do it? Harry knew it was just some harmless kissing and it really wasn't anything...

Except for the fact that Harry had never made out with anyone before.

In his dilemma, Harry felt the signs of Draco's discouragement. There was a silent sigh, almost like frustration, before Draco moved his kisses back to Harry's hair.

Maybe just one little peck and he'll leave me alone...Harry thought nervously, and holding his breath, he tilted his head upwards. He felt Draco pause for a second before he felt a small breeze on his lips and then the fall of Draco's lips. They hugged his own and Harry's stomach flipped over, blinking his wide-open eyes. Oh, _wow_, Harry thought. Draco is kissing me with an _open mouth_. Harry was sure he was going to die from the shock of it all. Draco's mouth left for a second, only to return hotly again in such persistence that Harry felt his own lips part a bit. And that was all that Draco needed. His tongue slipped in and touched Harry's still one before swiping to his bottom teeth and lip. Harry, in his shock, squirmed and found a fist clenching Draco's shirt, all the while finding the decency to breathe in sharply in a way that was loud to both of their ears. Draco fucking Malfoy was kissing him! Tongue in his mouth! Harry didn't know if he wanted to scream or faint from it all. He was also sure that the alcohol in his veins was helping him calm his screaming and confused nerves - it kept telling him that it was all right, it was okay, _go along with it._ So Harry took a deep breath and found Draco's bottom lip between his own. He sucked on it lightly and a new taste filled his mouth again and Harry knew it was Draco. Now, he always heard that when you kissed someone, they tasted like - well, pineapples, or wine, or sugar or something...but Draco didn't taste like any kind of food. He just tasted wet, tasted almost like Harry's own saliva but only so much hotter. He wondered if that really was how it was or if he was just too dulled. This was Harry's first kiss...he wondered if he should tell him that, so he didn't think he was stupid or something. But Draco's bottom lip had slipped from Harry's sucking and Draco descended on him hotly with a wave of his tongue and Harry thought that maybe that wouldn't be a good idea. Interruption was a terrible thing when you were sharing your first kiss and Harry thought maybe he could learn...?

So he copied Draco's questing tongue within his mouth, but he found he was really quite fond of just sucking on one of Draco's lips, sometimes letting his teeth rake the delicate flesh as he slipped out. Draco never did it back to him though, so Harry got an idea that maybe it wasn't as fun for Draco as it was for him...but he never said anything. They just kissed languidly, tongues exploring each other's mouths like they had all the time in the world. Harry liked how relaxed the kiss was, like they had done this a million times before, and found himself quite snuggled up to his boyfriend's body. Harry also noticed that no matter how long they kissed, they rarely needed to come up for air. Harry found it quite easy to breathe through his nose and suck on Draco's tongue at the same time. Again, he thought that maybe they were doing something wrong, because he read that when people kiss, they got so into it, that they had to break for air. Harry was positive that he wasn't the best kisser...but Draco didn't say anything, so that reassured Harry into thinking that maybe...this was Draco's first kiss too.

The best part though, Harry was sure, was when Draco started kissing his neck. He _never_ wanted him to stop. He gasped and groaned at Draco's soft kisses and his hot breath tickling his neck. It felt too good to be true and he knew that if Draco ever wanted anything from him again, all he would have to do was kiss right there. The frustrating thing though was that Draco would only hover there for barely a minute before coming back to Harry's mouth. He didn't know why...he rather liked Draco glued to his neck, thank you very fucking much. He thought he was being quite vocal about it too. How many times did he have to say 'Oh My God' and moan and whimper to get Draco a clue? Or maybe he was being too loud about it? So Harry tried to be bit quieter when Draco nibbled on his neck again, but it was no use; his hands clenched, his toes curled, and he groaned loudly and squirmed against his companion's body. Draco came back to his mouth immediately to be silenced, but god damnit, Harry wanted to be loud...

"Draco..." Harry said, breathless for more of that tingling sensation. "Please for all that is holy, put your mouth back on my neck..."

"Like that, do you?" Draco chuckled.

"Weren't you listening to me?" Harry tried to sound cross but it failed because Draco was devouring his neck again and _it felt so fucking good_.

"Yes," Draco murmured quietly. "And it was driving me insane..."

"Oh..." Harry hiccuped, toes curling again in his shoes as he bucked into Draco's lower regions. Draco's breath hitched.

"Sorry..." Harry whispered. "It just...good...uh..."

Draco's hands were around his waist now and had slowly crawled underneath his shirt. The tickling sensation of Draco's fingers and his mouth caused Harry's mind and body to completely freeze - well, mostly. He knew he should return the favor, touch Draco back, but all he was capable of doing when Draco hit the right spot was hiss, and roll his hips forward as the wave washed through him. Draco was only too happy about that. Lips found lips again and they fell into the familiar pattern, as Draco's hands crawled up Harry's back.

Back. His back...

Harry squeaked just in time before Draco's questing fingers found his scars and purposely fell off the couch, landing on the floor loudly. Couples around them broke apart at the loud crash, blinking blearily at Harry's shape on the concrete floor.

"Harry, are you all right?" Draco whispered, kneeling down to help him up.

"Harry Potter?" Somebody whispered from the darkness.

"Uh, fine," Harry felt very embarrassed. "Just...uh...can we...leave?"

"...Yeah, okay," Draco said and helped Harry up. Still a little woozy, Draco had to manhandle Harry to the stairs.

"Harry Potter!" Someone said again from the dark room as they climbed the stairs. "Snogging!" And everyone burst into giggles.

"Being last isn't always the worst thing, Harry. At least that way you can see every mistake that people make in front of you." - Luna Lovegood

By Monday, Harry snogging Draco Malfoy at the Weasley's party had spread like wildfire. Unfortunately for the press, they had no pictures, so they had to force the headline news to completely cover the second page and three fourths of the third. Harry had no idea what the hell they could talk about to take up so much space, but he couldn't make himself read to find out. Unlike Draco, who was undaunted by the giggles, the whispers, and the celebrity press, Harry was a wreck. For some reason, he felt very cheap and tarnished, like he just ruined a bit of himself - not just by getting drunk, but giving away his first kiss while he was hammered. It felt wrong somehow and Harry found himself longing for that kiss back, so he could still say he was innocent. When people generally found out that Harry had never had a proper snog...well, they had always acted very positive about it. Like he was noble and brave for saving his first kiss as fiercely as he saved someone he loved. The press had a field day when they found out about Harry's innocent exposure with headlines in newspapers and magazines about 'Never Been Kissed.' Harry had secretly enjoyed those stories, because they made it sound like it was something so very pure, instead of something freaky and weird; something Harry felt like most of the time. But when 'Harry's First Snog' came about, everyone acted like Harry was just caught with a teacher in a broom closet. And Harry was beginning to feel like it too.

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Hermione snapped, her book falling loudly on the table as she glared over at a large group of whispering fourth years. They hushed and stared like bunnies caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train before coughing and quickly departing.

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry sighed as he scribbled on his parchment absently. When Hermione had received her daily newspaper, she had been furious to the point of tears about the whole thing. Not at Harry, but at how everyone was acting about it, and she had been like a dragon to everyone for the entire day.

"It's NOT okay," Hermione growled, turning back to her friend. "You see this kind of stuff happen all the time to celebrities. It's all right if they remain all innocent and smiles, but as soon as they are caught kissing a guy, it automatically makes them cheap and...and..."

"Slutty?" Harry offered helpfully, looking up over his glasses.

"Well...yes," Hermione said, flustered. She sighed then, blowing the hair out of her face as she moved to pick up her book again. "It just isn't fair for you, Harry. They just expect you stay pure forever, like some comic book superhero. But you're human and a BOY and...it just isn't right for them to treat you like this after all you've done." She buried her head behind the book. "It's all right for you to grow up. It's not like you're a boy anymore..."

"The Man Who Lived," Harry said, his voice holding a bare whisper of humor in it. Hermione snorted and they went back to their homework, the common room slowly emptying out when people found themselves at a loss for words over the current gossip. Soon it was just he, Hermione, Ron, and Neville, the last two by the fire, with Ron snoring away over his Potions book and Neville feeding his toad. Biting his inner lip, Harry slowly rolled up his parchment and stared at the hardcover blocking Hermione's face.

"Hermione?"

"Hm?"

"I...need to ask you something," Harry started uncertainly. Hermione's head appeared slowly from behind the book as she lowered it gently back to the table. "With you and Neville...did everything just come naturally to you guys?"

Hermione raised both eyebrows (she could never do the one eyebrow thing) and blinked at Harry. "You mean, did we date and not make the four o'clock news?"

"Hermione," Harry begged, taking off his glasses to rub his strained eyes. "I'm serious."

"Are you and Draco not working out?" She asked softly.

"I don't know!" Harry said frustrated. "I don't know anything about us. I don't know what's expected, what's mandatory, and what just comes naturally. I don't know what to do, but when it happens, I get so fucking nervous over it that I freak out and run away. Draco's probably so sick of it, but I can't help it...I just..."

"Harry, you do know that there's nothing mandatory in a relationship, don't you?" Hermione asked, a smile tugging at her lips in mirth.

"Yes there is," Harry said, dropping his hands on the table. "You've gotta hold hands, and kiss sometimes, and then once you really like each other, you...and bedroom..."

"Harry, who in the world told you all that?" Hermione said incredulous.

"Nobody," Harry huffed. "It's just what I see coming from everybody..."

"Well, not everybody is the same," Hermione shook her head, and Harry did too, as if to shake the confusing swirl of thoughts away. "People do that because they want to, Harry, not because it's required."

"What are you guys talking about?" Neville asked, walking over. Neville had grown tall over the summer and had lost all his child flubber. He had also let his hair grow long and shaggy around his face, which Hermione seemed to adore. It was also obvious that his grandmother had taken Neville to some tooth wizard, because they were straight and perfect now. Harry knew that if that were available in the Muggle world, everybody would have perfect teeth, and skip the embarrassing hassle of braces.

"I'm sorry, Neville, but Harry just wants to talk to me right now..." Hermione said and her eyes squinted, like always when she was extremely apologetic. She looked up at her tall boyfriend in what Harry thought was a very inviting manner and like he expected, Neville leaned down and pecked her softly on the lips.

"That's all right," he said. "I'm going up to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right," Hermione said, glowing. She watched him leave up the stairs before turning back to Harry. "See? He didn't have to kiss me; he just did it because he wanted to. And probably to reassure me that he isn't offended." Hermione seemed very proud over that little aspect, to have such an easy-going boyfriend.

"And practically because you were begging for it," Harry couldn't help to point out.

"Huh?"

"Well, when you tilted your head just so..." Harry said, putting her head back in position like before. "It was practically like ordering the poor boy to kiss you."

Hermione blinked and stared at Harry, until he began to blush.

"I am so weird," he mumbled before burying his head in his arms.

"Well...I..." Hermione stammered. "I didn't realize that I did that. I mean...what do you do, study people or something? Did you read a book on how to coy your boyfriend into doing anything?"

"No!" Harry said strongly at the table, too embarrassed to lift his face from his arms.

"If you did, I would really like to read it..."

"_Hermione_..."

They were quiet for a moment, while his best friend thought. Harry felt so odd and out of place during all of it.

"Harry," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "Do you think like that all the time with Draco?"

"What do you mean?" His muffled voice asked.

"Like, analyzing the entire situation?" she said. "Like...well, I don't know..."

"Like if I wanted Draco to hug me, all I would have to do is..." Harry felt so stupid, telling Hermione this. "...lean away from the wall and then when he stood in front of me, push myself up, keep eye contact, and go nose to nose. Then he, thinking I was falling, would automatically..." SO STUPID. "...put his arms around me."

"Does that actually work?" Hermione asked, awed. Harry groaned.

"Works every time from what I see."

They fell into silence again, Hermione playing with the edges of the book before she spoke up. "So, do you? Analyze it like that?"

Harry shrugged but after a second, nodded into his arms. He lifted his head and rested his chin on his hands, blinking blearily at his best friend. "Is that weird, Hermione?"

"Well, it's not how I think about Neville..." she said uncertainly. Harry looked into her eyes and saw that she looked sad; sad for him, he assumed, like he was missing out on something and he'll never know what it will feel like. "But Harry, you're so different from everybody else. You think and act differently to every situation. You've never been an ordinary kid." No, Harry thought sadly. I'm a complete and utter freak. He was like a pretty fish in a bowl, staring out at normal humans that go about their business, and wishing that his fins were legs, and he could join them for a day. But he couldn't, because he was a fish, and fish weren't SUPPOSED to think like that...

Hermione took his hands, snapping his attention back to her caring face.

"It isn't weird, Harry," Hermione smiled. "In fact, I'm pretty sure it would be weird if you didn't act this way."

"Really?" Harry asked softly. She nodded.

"Well, think about it," she said. "Since you were eleven, you were fighting evil. Instead of wondering how to catch the eye of a pretty girl or-" she smiled, "-a pretty boy in class, you were plotting on how to survive that year. And while everyone else was getting boyfriends and girlfriends, you could only watch while you tried to keep Voldemort out of your head."

She squeezed Harry's hand and smiled largely, leaning her head in as if to whisper a big secret to her best friend.

"Harry, you're so used to watching," she said softly, "that you're still catching up to acting. You know when Draco is going to kiss you and you're still half expecting that it's someone else. So when it turns out he's kissing YOU, it's still a major shock and big deal to you."

Harry was getting confused. "Huh?"

Hermione laughed. "Harry, before you came to Hogwarts, or maybe your first year, did you even think about kissing or holding hands with someone?"

Harry scrunched up his nose thoughtfully before slowly shaking his head.

"Well, that's it," she said, like she just proved some point.

"What is?" Harry asked, still lost.

"Harry," she said, stressing his name. "Your mind is just not mature enough yet for relationships."

Harry blinked at her, now thinking she was the weird one.

"Come on, it all makes sense," she explained easily. "You've been exposed to all the boyfriend and girlfriend traits, but you've never taken a special interest in it because you haven't had time. You haven't had time to see what you might like in a relationship, only what everyone else liked. As far as romance goes, your mind is still eleven years old in the area, and kissing means cooties."

Well, that would explain why I feel so crappy about giving my first kiss away, Harry thought, avoiding Hermione's eyes. It would explain his reluctance to think of anything in the bedroom area. It would explain anything dealing with the body really, though he did find himself thinking Draco had an excellent one.

"If that's true..." Harry said. "Then it's just temporary, right?"

"Of course," Hermione said.

"God, it just doesn't make sense..." Harry said, frustrated again when he thought of Draco's lips on his neck. His toes automatically curled in his shoes. "I mean, I think Draco's attractive and I definitely like what happened Friday night...but at the same time, I _don't_."

"Hormones, Harry," Hermione said simply. "Your body may have been enjoying itself, but that doesn't mean your mind is ready to cope with it yet."

Harry felt like she just found a lost puzzle piece and put it back in his skull to finish the puzzle. Suddenly, everything seemed so clear and so much easier to understand. Harry couldn't really believe he didn't figure it out for himself. While Harry was dawning over this comprehension, Hermione seemed to be glowing, like she just got a hundred and fifty percent on a N.E.W.T.S. exam.

"Don't worry, Harry," she said happily. "You'll get over this hurdle soon enough. Draco can wait for you."

"Draco..." Harry mumbled, slightly nervous again. Hermione laughed at him and he smiled bashfully. "Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"It's not eleven," Harry said, grinning. "It's thirteen." Hermione looked confused for a second before she started to laugh again.

Harry had a bad dream that night. He was sitting in the damp dungeon again with Luna and their hands were clasped together. Harry's back was beginning to burn and he was sweating, panting against the pain of it. Luna kept staring at him though, not bothered in the least against the popping sounds of burning flesh that echoed off the stone walls.

"Luna, Luna help me, please..." Harry begged, his hands tight in agony over her elegant hands. The popping and the sizzling continued, and Harry wished he would die...he could barely hear Luna's voice over the sound of it...

"What should I be afraid of, Harry?"

"Luna, please, God, help me..." he whispered, rocking back and forth. "Ah! God, please, Luna!"

"What do you think about?"

Harry's voice gave out in a whimper, as he started to curl in within himself - he didn't know why he tried to make himself smaller. Maybe he was thinking that the smaller he was, the pain would decrease as well. It didn't work though. It seared with a scream that made Harry try to cover his ears, but Luna wouldn't let go of his hands now. The screaming was something vicious, something raw and powerful that it made Harry's insides shake. He knew that this would be the very voice of hate, pain, and fear if it was breathed life...and it was crackling off his back like something that had done just that. He tried to block out the sound, he tried to ignore the pain, but it was too great for him, too powerful...and then Harry realized that the screaming wasn't coming from his back. It wasn't coming out of anything else or anyone else but himself; emptying out of his mouth like vomit that had refused to hold itself back any longer. It burned his throat as such, like the voice of agony was pure acid and had splattered all over the two captives with its ringing tone. Harry knew that he was not dying though. Dying didn't feel like this. Dying was something sad and slow; but this feeling tearing through him was faster then a cast spell and the emotions that were stirred were anything but sadness. It was hard and harsh and it made Harry die in a completely different way. This thing tearing out of his mouth and trembling along his nerves was killing; it was the body and voice of death who held the knife against a victim's throat. It was the baseball bat that rained upon another person; it was the rage that motivated someone to bash their fists through flesh, bones, and skulls. It was the feeling Harry held secret in his mind, the last thing he felt before he blacked out with his wand digging into Voldemort's temple. Its nature whispered to Harry in the dark and lay restless under the confines Harry had trapped it in. If it could not satisfy itself outwardly, it was going to destroy him from the inside.

Harry hoped it would.

Harry tried to tell Luna to run away from him. He tried to tell her to kill him before he attacked. But she kept talking to him and Harry kept screaming and he knew that this was a nightmare, the worst nightmare ever, and he was going to be trapped inside it until he went insane. He could feel his sanity shredding against the agony of it, until he started to hear another sound, something rising over his own raw screaming. And then it was cascading over his vocal reaches, fighting back his hate, pain, and fear until it seemed to slap and claw at his own face. He tried to locate the sound, but his vision was fading against this nightmare and he knew that it was going to be over soon. He also knew that it was the most beautiful thing in the world; something completely different against his own voice. It was sad, but it was also like a submission of some kind; a sacrifice, really. When it rang off the dungeon walls, it gave off light while his voice made the room darker and darker. When it reached his ears, it soothed the pain his own screaming made. And it was filling him up, instead of emptying him like an overflowing cauldron. Harry was torn between the pain and the caress, but eventually the other sound won out...and then Harry knew where the sound came from. As he scrambled desperately on the threads of his departing dream, Harry knew that sound had saved him from the killing of Voldemort, from crumbling into insanity.

Luna's voice as she died.


	3. three

Title: Classic Stigma

Author: Nepenthe

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Genre: Drama

Format: Finished multipart

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Some swearing.

Disclaimer: I own Harry's new scars and Luna's advice. Nothing more.

"You know who your friends are if they still love you when you are no longer perfect." - Luna Lovegood

"Hey."

Harry turned around to greet Draco as he walked towards his table, a library book open on the surface. After classes, Harry decided he needed some privacy after the exhausting trial of being subject to the rumor mill. One could only take so much from all the staring and loud whispers.

"Hi," Harry said, turning back to his book as Draco took a seat beside him. Harry could feel his boyfriend's sharp gaze on him and it made his cheeks begin to burn. The conversation with Hermione last night drifted up, making him shift uncomfortably. He didn't know if he could talk to Draco over something so serious; he was hoping Hermione might do the deed for him. He was half-tempted to ask her, to explain it to Draco...but Draco had disappeared for most of that day and thus, Harry forgot. He became more concerned with ignoring everyone else.

"What are you reading?" Draco asked.

"Nothing school-related," Harry answered meekly, rubbing his blushed cheeks before getting up abruptly. He grabbed the book and moved quickly to the bookcase to put it back and get something else. He didn't notice Draco getting up and following him closely. When Harry had picked out a thicker novel and turned around, he was surprised to find Draco right there, his height just an inch away from being eye-level. Draco put a hand on his chest and pushed him against the bookcase, right into the corner of the lined walls. He stepped closer till their bodies were flush against each other and Harry's breath hitched nervously, clutching the thick bind of his new book.

"Um, hi," Harry hiccupped anxiously. "Wh...What are you doing?"

Draco smirked, "Nothing school-related." Then he leaned in, his mouth open and hot on Harry's trembling lips. The shock was immediate, the panic was swelling and Harry lost his sweaty grip on the book. It landed heavily on his foot and he hissed - Draco invaded with his tongue. Harry kept his eyes open wide and he gripped the books behind him to keep himself from bolting. He also recognized the kiss as the slow one he experienced in Fred and George's basement; a slow exploration, something that felt second nature rather then something new. Harry realized Draco was rather good at that; making something feel natural and graceful instead of disgusting and weird - something that Harry knew he was. Something broke inside of him then, something that made his lips move and his shy tongue greet Draco slowly. But just as he was beginning to relax to Draco's easy ministrations, he moved and Harry tensed, just because it felt so good. He wasn't drunk this time to know that he would probably always like Draco's mouth on his neck, kissing across his skin. It made his insides quiver, his toes curl, and his will crumble like sand.

"Uhh..." Harry whimpered. Draco chuckled.

"Shh," he breathed over his wet skin, making Harry shudder. The quiver raced through his limbs and a few more books fell the floor. Draco chuckled again. "We're in a library, Harry."

Harry was grateful that they were in the back of the said library, away from students and Madame Pince because he was sure this wasn't acceptable behavior. This was surely going to revive the gossiping as well if anyone saw them.

"Um," Harry gulped. "Yeah. Sorry."

Draco looked up at him then and Harry shyly met his gaze. Draco always had intense eyes, Harry thought. Sometimes cold, but like a deep lake frozen over...it was sometimes dark to look into. The lake had no bottom for Harry and the darkness that began in its depths held all of Draco's secrets. He was sometimes afraid to go that far, so far away from the light. He was afraid that Draco would never let him come up again.

Draco smirked slowly.

"What?" Harry breathed.

"I'll let you get back to your non school-related studies," he said, grinning, before he slipped away from Harry's body. There was an immediate temperature drop where Draco's body once was. He then slipped out of the room as easily as he came, leaving Harry breathing sharply and staring at his retreating back, confused.

And Draco had played like that for the rest of the week. He attacked Harry in empty corridors, pushing him against the wall with fleeting kisses before rushing to his next class. In public, there would be temporary touches that barely brushed his shoulders, his neck, his chest. Sometimes Harry would find Draco suddenly by his side, an arm around his waist as they walked down the hallway with Ron and Hermione before running away without another word. In one daring move, Draco had trapped Harry in the Potion's cupboard and kissed Harry breathless (imagine that!) before grabbing an herb and walking away. The Quidditch locker rooms were no longer safe for Harry, especially his private one (his special request to Dumbledore, in relation to his scars) because Draco had found a way in to leave Harry squirming on a bench. It was driving Harry mad. It was driving Hermione insane with giggles. And it was driving the rest of the students at Hogwarts to switch their gossiping paths and start taking bets on how long Harry could last. Of course, Harry didn't know about the very large wager.

"It's not funny," Harry growled late Friday night over his homework. Hermione smiled, if somewhat secretly, and Harry was convinced she was in this damn plot. Of all the people to turn on him. At least Ron was still on his side. Harry looked at him. Ron was quick to cover his own grin and Harry scowled. They were both in on it!

"Traitor," Harry growled underneath his breath, glaring at his empty parchment.

"I don't know what's gotten into Draco's..." and Ron trailed off, thinking, before grinning. "Well, I was going to say 'head' but frankly, I wouldn't know what's gotten into Draco's pants either—"

"Neither do I!" Harry screamed, his face flaming as Ron and Hermione laughed hysterically.

"Oh, Ron, that was horrible," Hermione scolded lightly, wiping at a teary eye.

"Both of you," Harry corrected, angrily scribbling on his paper.

"Oy, Harry!" Seamus called from across the room. He looked up. "Your boyfriend is here!" Followed quickly by catcalls and whistles. Harry groaned and sunk quickly in his seat. Deciding that wasn't enough, he ducked underneath the table.

"I'm not here!" Harry called back, holding onto Hermione's ankles as she tried to kick him.

"You're such a baby," she said, turning in her seat. "Let him in, Seamus."

"NO!" Harry cried, lifting up in a rush and smacking his head on the table. "Ow."

"Hello, Granger, Weasley," Draco's voice floated overhead and Harry held his breath as Draco's pretty shoes came into view. "Do either of you know where Harry is?"

"Sure," Ron piped up and Harry scrambled over to his feet. "He's right - OW!" Harry grinned around Ron's leg, clenching his teeth menacingly. Ron whimpered above.

"He's where?" Draco drawled predatorily and Harry whimpered too.

"Right...right..." Ron stuttered, sure his leg was going to be spurting blood any second.

"Under the table, Draco," Hermione supplied and wisely brought her legs up before Harry could hurt her too.

"Traitor!" Harry screamed again as he burst out from underneath the table, shooting Hermione a glare as he scrambled up. Draco was standing in front of him when he got to his feet, smirking. Harry eeped, backed up into a chair, and gulped.

"Care to go for a walk, Potter?" Draco drawled.

"Um, does this 'walk' have dark corners and is basically deserted of all human life?" Harry asked, shakily.

"Why, how did you know?" Draco grinned, his eyes glinting and making Harry feel very, very small.

"Just a guess," Harry whimpered. "But, ah, as you can see, I'm really busy...Um, Ron is upset that Hermione won't go out with him and I have to console him. Uh huh."

Ron's indignant 'What?' was overridden by Draco looking at Hermione, "I thought you were going out with Longbottom."

"I am," Hermione answered simply.

"You're a horrible liar, Potter," Draco said, looking at Harry again who was trying to creep out of his trapped space.

"Well, you see," Harry tried to explain unsteadily. "He, uh, didn't ask her because of Longbot - Neville - he's horribly in love with her and knows he doesn't stand a chance --"

"HEY!" Ron squawked again.

"Come on," Draco said, grabbing Harry's wrist and dragging him easily across the common room.

"No, no!" Harry wailed. "He really needs me, Draco! Like, I'm his life-support and - Somebody save me! Please, please save me! Anybody!" They were out of the portrait entryway and Draco continued to drag a resisting Harry down the stairs. After awhile, Harry stopped protesting and let Draco lead him down the deserted corridors like a dejected dog.

When Draco didn't say anything and Harry was beginning to get lost in the many corridors they were snaking through, he decided to pipe up, "Where exactly are we going?"

"Don't you remember?" he replied, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. "Dark corners. No one else around but you and me..."

Harry had adjusted well to the kissing. And for the random groping. He got used to those things. But he was NOT ready for anything that included removing clothes. Harry scrambled for an idea to delay his partner's current thoughts, biting his lip and worrying over it. Before he could think of anything, though, Draco had turned around, pulled Harry forward and covered his eyes.

"Um..." Harry started.

"Damn your glasses," Draco cursed and shoved them up on top of Harry's head before covering his eyes again and stepping behind him.

"What are you doing, Draco?" Harry asked uncertainly as Draco nudged him forward.

"I'm playing Quidditch. Why? What does it look like?" Draco remarked behind him.

"This must be a new tactic of yours," Harry nodded. "Are you going to hop on my broom and blind fold me so I can't see the snitch?"

"I can do worse things than hop on your broom, Harry," Draco grinned.

"Oh, gross," Harry groaned as he heard a door creak open and Draco continued to guide him forward slowly. "All three of you are just sick today. So, what did you bribe my best friends with to help you with this plot, huh, Draco?"

"Actually, it was their idea," Draco said simply.

"I'm going to kill them," Harry grumbled. "I'm going to kill them until they're dead..."

"Wonderful threat, Potter," Draco drawled with a snicker quickly following.

Harry sighed, "Are you ever going to let me see again?"

"No," Draco answered honestly and suddenly left his side, snatching Harry's glasses before the boy could put them on his face again. Harry blinked open his eyes, staring at the darkness around him. He swished out a hand in front of him and met nothing.

"Draco?" Harry called out, uncertainly. "Draco, you know I can't see without my glasses."

"I know," Draco replied, somewhere to the left. Harry turned his head towards his voice. "And it's also very dark in here."

"Why are you doing this?" Harry asked, holding his hands out in front of him as he moved forward.

"I need you to trust me, Harry," Draco replied.

Harry laughed at the absurdity, "I trust you."

"Not like that," Draco said sharply, causing Harry to stop and his hands to fall slowly to his sides. "I need you to trust me to know that I'm not going to leave you in the darkness."

"Draco..." Harry breathed, his eyebrows curling upwards. He reached out again, his blurry fingers searching the night. "Draco, I don't know what you're talking about..."

"There's something you're not telling me," Draco said and Harry jerked his head quickly to the right. He had moved without Harry hearing him. "You're afraid I'll leave you because of it."

Unconsciously, Harry's hand drew to the back of his neck, his fingers ducking underneath his shirt to touch the beginnings of the large scars on his back.

"Why...Why do you say that?" Harry asked, running his tongue across his teeth in nervous habit. His nails dug into his scars and scratched at them; clawed at them, like he was hoping the skin would break, peel away, and start anew.

"I watch you," he replied and Harry felt, rather then saw, Draco's presence. He let go of his neck and lashed out; Draco caught him easily at the wrist and drew him deeper into the darkness, closer to the warmth. There was breath on his neck, causing shivers to race through his scarred flesh, and then a firm body pressing against his. For being a bit smaller then Harry, Draco had an overbearing presence that made the boy want to bend his knees and bury his face into his chest. It made Harry want to look up, rather then look down...but at the same time, it was perfect the way they were fitted against each other. Fingers curled in his black hair, a strong arm encased his waist and Harry knew, as if just realizing it, that Draco was there with him.

"Why won't you let me love you?" Draco whispered, lowering Harry's head onto his shoulder and helping him rest it there. Harry thought about protesting, about denying and telling Draco that he was just imagining things. But in this dark place, this place where Harry could no longer tell if he was really Harry Potter or not; in this place where the shadows engulfed them both and promised to keep their secrets; in this place where he knew it was only him and Draco, Harry felt no need to keep himself hidden, even though the darkness did it very effectively from prying eyes. Just like before, when they shared their first real kiss, Harry felt safe and content in the arms of someone he despised just a few short years ago - heck, months ago. And that's why Harry knew he could no longer lie to Draco or himself - not in this place.

"I'm afraid," Harry answered truthfully, his hands finding Draco's shirt and gripping the cloth tightly, as if preventing Draco from running away.

"You're afraid of a lot of things," Draco chuckled, running his fingers up in Harry's gnarled hair. A conversation drifted back to Harry, causing him to shudder against the sudden chill on the back of his neck, and moldy damp smell that suddenly filled his nose.

"Why are you afraid of me, Harry?"

"I'm not afraid of you," Harry protested out of honesty. Harry started to raise his head, but Draco wouldn't let him. "I'm afraid of what you can do to me."

"I won't hurt you, Harry," Draco whispered with conviction, his fingers tightening on Harry's person and clenching him close.

"There are many ranges of hurt," Harry croaked out, his voice dry and crusty. They both knew who had said that before and the darkness seemed to stir uncomfortably.

"To the best of my ability," Draco swore into Harry's hair, "I will avoid them."

Harry closed his eyes to listen to Draco's voice, listen to the strong noise that resonated around them. His voice was thick with promise that lay heavy on Harry's shoulders. Promises that were made by a boy that, for all looks and differences, appeared to be a man. But both man and child can still break their promises without knowing they had.

"You don't know what you promise," Harry told him, shaking his head.

"Then tell me!" Draco's voice had risen in its urgency to know the truth that Harry held away from him. "Tell me what you're keeping from me!"

"I can't!" Harry shouted back, equally loud, in urgency to keep the truth secret.

"I have to know, Harry!" Draco yelled, pulling back from his companion and leaving Harry in the darkness. Harry sucked in his breath quickly, swiping at the air in front of him to see if Draco was still there. But he encountered nothing. Already, one promise was broken and Harry felt a surge of anger at being deceived.

"Why can't you just wait for me?!" Harry shouted, fists clenched at his sides.

"I'm always waiting for you! I always am! There's nothing else I can do!"

"Nothing else?!" Harry screamed, his rage overtaking him. "You can love me for what I am! Even if there are secrets still, you can love me for what I have already given you!"

"There is no love in secrets!" Draco's voice was one of pure rage, tainting the shadows in murky red.

"Then why don't you ever tell me what you told to Luna!?" Harry raged back and there was an echoing silence, like his voice had manifested claws and had delivered a blow to the other person in the room.

"...Harry..."

"You told her things that you will never speak to me about!" Harry screamed, feeling broken and betrayed. "If that is not keeping secrets from me, then I don't know what is."

"I don't...I don't want to say those things again, Harry," Draco's voice sounded broken too. "It was too hard the first time."

"And my secret kills me everyday," Harry spat, but it only held thorns of internal pain. "This secret will drive you away. I know it."

There was silence from Draco and Harry felt himself tremble, a fearful thought entering his mind. Perhaps he left the room. Perhaps Draco couldn't deal with the actual seriousness of their relationship; Harry knew he barely could. But then he felt the shift in the air, his only warning, before a hot, open mouth took his. Harry knew it was Draco just by his initial approach. Always open, like arms that grabbed him immediately to crush him to his body. Always warm, to drive away the coldness that plagued Harry ever since those days in Voldemort's dungeon. Weak and tired, Harry opened his mouth to welcome Draco back to him, having no strength to fight with his companion any longer. They tangled in a familiar dance, their slow, unhurried dance that probed Harry deeper then any quick kiss could. Then they were falling to the floor, Draco on top of him, and he was whispering things to him. Harry couldn't make it out, didn't want to at that moment. All he wanted was Draco, only Draco. It was all he ever wanted.

They kissed and they touched. Draco had settled in-between Harry's legs and a moment of panic swelled him, which Draco tried to kiss away.

"It's all right," he whispered between kisses. "It's okay, I won't hurt you. Just relax, Harry. I won't do anything..."

And for some very long moments, Draco did nothing but lie between his legs, touch him lightly, and kiss him. Harry began to relax, to kiss back, and found his hands sliding up Draco's back underneath his shirt. It felt smooth and flawless and tears leaked out of Harry's eyes at the unfamiliar feel of the perfect plane of skin. He was glad they were in darkness and Draco could not see his tears; he would never be able to explain how good Draco felt.

"Don't stop," Draco breathed next to his ear, drawing away to kiss Harry's collarbone before that wet tear could hit him. "That's a rather weak spot of mine."

"Yeah," Harry whispered, his voice barely leaving his lips. "Mine too."

"Get on top of me?" Draco asked against his cheek and Harry opened his eyes, tensing in panic. "Just like me, Harry. Just to see how it feels?"

"All...all right," Harry consented shakily and they both rolled over. At first, Harry tried not to touch Draco too much, even though he was lying on top of him. He used his arms for leverage to keep his body up, blinking at the darkness where Draco should be. Then hands broke through the night and started pulling him down slowly, in-between Draco's spread legs.

"It's all right, Harry," Draco whispered and he lifted his head to take Harry's lips within his own. After a few moments of the familiar routine, Harry laid his entire body down over Draco and wrapped his arms around his neck, letting him rest his head on his arms. Draco's arms slipped around his waist, letting his fingers trace the open flesh where Harry's shirt rose.

"You had all of this planned," Harry breathed when their lips broke apart. "Get in a fight with Harry and have a make-up snog afterwards."

"Mmm," and Harry could tell he was grinning, "I also hoped that during that make-up snog, I could get you to talk dirty to me."

"Does my boyfriend have a little fetish?" Harry chortled before Draco began kissing his neck and his thoughts began to get muddled.

"Come on, Harry," Draco whispered, grinning against his skin. "Talk dirty to me..."

"Um...all right..." Harry breathed, his eyes flickering closed. "Um, let's see...dirty water...mud puddles...mud pies...dirty puppies..."

Draco began laughing against Harry's neck, his breath tickling across the wet skin, and soon Harry was squirming and laughing too. Their kisses began to rain more freely on one another between the light chuckles that rent the air, before humor fled from them as their kissing became serious again. Harry was lost to the moment, to Draco's tongue in his mouth and on his skin. It was perfect, despite the uncomfortable shift from time to time, as their boyish bodies didn't quite fit perfectly together. It more then made up for Draco's light caress and open-mouth kisses that Harry found himself adoring and shuddering against.

"Harry, what's this?" Draco mumbled against his mouth.

Harry loved when Draco would talk against his lips, telling him things that he barely understood through the muffle. It was something endearing, something Draco couldn't help but do because Harry believed he didn't know he did it.

"Harry, what is this?" Draco asked again, sounding slightly upset.

What Harry loved most, though, was the way Draco felt. His skin was just perfect, so soft...surely, Draco must bathe in milk and lotion to make it feel this way. It was just impossible to just glide so easily over it.

"Harry, what the hell is this?!" Draco yelled, breaking through Harry's fuzzy thoughts. At first, he didn't know what Draco was talking about and blinked confused at the darkness. And then, after a moment, he felt Draco's hand. He felt the hand touch the ruffled skin with trembling digits, feeling each curve and rippled flesh with horror. Harry breathed in sharply, his throat closing up after his last breath, and he became very still. A heavy feeling settled into Harry's gut and he knew it was what a knife would feel if it was resting there. It twisted painfully and made it hard to think, to say, to do anything but suck in his stomach.

"Tell me what this is!" Draco shouted, his voice cracking with horror and Harry knew he was beginning to die.

"It's...it's a scar..." Harry choked out just as Draco's hand quickly withdrew like it had been finally burned. Harry closed his eyes painfully as he heard Draco rubbing his hand furiously against his leg, as if to wipe off the germs that he could have caught by touching that distorted flesh.

"Oh, Merlin," Draco struggled out and Harry heard the disgust like it was a bell inside his head, constantly ringing. He began to feel sick himself. He drew away from Draco and he heard his companion scramble up to his feet.

"Harry...I..." Draco started and stopped. Then the footsteps began and Draco ran away from Harry, out the door. It slammed loudly behind him. Harry stayed where he was, his hands shaking against his thighs as he stared down at the darkness. At first, there was nothing but the numbing shock that weighed on his neck, like a heavy stone. It made Harry kneel forward, start to crawl towards some unknown destination. But he didn't make it very far. The stone shattered suddenly and the wave of sickness returned with acid tears. Shakily, Harry put his hands over his mouth, sitting back on his haunches. And screamed. Screamed into his cupped hands like a dying man, like a broken child, who had found his murdered family and the blood soaked his clothes. Screamed so hard that it barely left his throat, the agony closing the channel up into a tight tunnel so it only left his lips in a whimper. Screamed until he was broken and the tears overtook the scream, falling like a wave after wave in the ocean. Harry collapsed and curled within himself, covering his face to bury those burning tears into his hands, and was sure that he did not have the strength to leave this room again. In this room, he was safe. In this room, only the darkness saw him, and accepted all of his faults; it held a tissue for all his tears, and caressed his scars like a loving mother.

In the darkness, Harry was home and no one could hurt him.

"There are many ranges of hurt." - Luna Lovegood

"...Harry? Harry, is that you?"

Harry stirred away from sleep, blinking crusty eyes that hurt against the glare of pure darkness still around him. There was a small patch of light behind him, where shadows and faceless forms kept flickering in its path. His cheeks hurt from crying, like a tender wound that had been torn open by salty water. He touched them shakily, his chest clenching painfully, and immediately his eyes began to get watery again.

"When you didn't come back to the common room, I started to get worried..." Hermione's voice coasted over the darkness, her footsteps tapping into the room. Harry slowly began to roll over to greet her. "Moaning Myrtle helped...H-Harry..." Her voice cracked when she saw him, her silhouette stopping in the middle of the room.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, feeling a twinge of guilt at having Hermione come after him. He started to sit up, but it was a slow process because his body ached from lying on the floor...and for many other reasons as well. Hermione immediately rushed over, collapsing on her knees with a loud thud that made Harry wince in pain. Her hands were on his shoulders, helping him up, and then pulling him into her arms in a desperate, confused hug.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, her trembling hands running over his back.

"Don't-," Harry choked. "Don't - my scars -."

"I don't fucking care about your scars!" Hermione growled with conviction, pulling him and making a point to dig her fingers into his back, knowing she could feel the rippled surface despite his shirt. It was all Harry could take when he saw her concerned face. He broke again and tried to hide his face from her, ashamed with himself. He didn't want Hermione to find him like this. Not when he couldn't control himself, not when the memory was still fresh. He was in her arms again, burying his burning face into her chest.

"Oh my God, Harry," Hermione whispered, panic in her voice at seeing her best friend crumble in her hands. She clutched at him, as if trying to hold him together, afraid that he would shatter right before her and she would never be able to put him together again. "Oh my God, Harry, please stop, please, please stop."

"I wish it would!" Harry whispered furiously, trying to hold onto her as well, but finding his limbs like lead. He could only cry softly and wish he was dead; anything was better than this.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, whatever it is, I'm so sorry. Please, Harry, stop...Oh God, Harry, please, I'm sorry...!" And she started to cry too, because seeing him like this was too much for her.

"It doesn't matter what is on the outside. Most of what you see at face value are just lies anyway." – Luna Lovegood

Saturday passed without Harry Potter's presence, Harry whom no one had seen since late Friday night when he left with his boyfriend. Rumors spread behind cupped hands and low voices. Girls shrieked and boys rolled their eyes as the story continued to get notoriously evil and naughty, that Harry had been shagged so well by Draco that he couldn't even move. Very few, though, knew the truth and their voices were small against the rumor mill, so they were forced to stop and keep quiet. When Draco Malfoy failed to make an appearance as well, the school went into hysterics. Perhaps they were still in some room, shagging away? People spent the entire day searching for the pair, to break into their lovemaking sessions and take a few pictures that would make the Daily Prophet proud. More bets were placed to see how long they would last and finally come back to the living. But few Slytherins knew that Malfoy had locked himself in his room (kicking his roommates out) and there were no sounds of shagging coming through that thick door. When dinner came and there was still no sight of the pair, some girls got so worked up that they were sent to the infirmary when they fainted from their tables. Stretchers carrying immobile ladies became part of the traffic and caused quite a commotion, or else they would have taken notice of Hermione screaming that people needed to get lives before making frustrated noises and fleeing the Great Hall.

"If I see Draco Malfoy's face, I'm going to beat it in," Ron growled furiously as he ate. His face had turned a permanent shade of red for the entire day and it was slowly seeping to a purple that, if Harry saw it, would have reminded him of Uncle Vernon. The boys around him, Seamus, Dean, and Neville, all nodded their agreements. They knew the real story because they were, after all, Harry's roommates. And it also didn't help that they stayed up to embarrass Harry silly when he returned, to only watched open-mouthed when Hermione came helping Harry into their dormitory.

"And don't forget this cool little thing we learned in class," Seamus pitched in, looking thoughtful. "What was it again? Oh...Oh yes, it's this thing called Magic and Wands."

"Fine," Ron spat, not exactly in the best mood at the moment. "You hex him while I play Quidditch with his kidneys."

"Good deal," Seamus nodded seriously, though there was a glint in his eyes.

"Your soul is in your smile, Harry. Only a few can see it, but for those who can...they are all that matter." – Luna Lovegood

All four boys would miss their chance though as they would find out later on. Harry Potter stumbled about in his shared dorm room that evening, silently thanking the house elf that left a bowl of water and washcloth on his bedside table. Wetting the cloth as he sat down, Harry covered his face with it and sighed, ignoring the drops of water that dripped onto his pajama bottoms. He was wearing his favorite sweatshirt; something Hermione was kind enough to help him into last night before she put him to bed. His cheeks started burning when he thought about what he told her, about how Draco had left him when he found out about his scars, and how he had cried all over her. The tears really humiliated him; he had never cried in front of Hermione before and he hoped he would never have to again.

Lying on his back with his legs dangling over the bed, Harry let the cooling cloth rest on his face and breathed with difficulty. It all felt like a horrible nightmare, something he dreamt up last night, and it was just an old memory. The only thing that kept it real though was how Harry couldn't bear leaving his room right now. He supposed he was afraid that if he left, everybody would know. Look at him and know. It was hard enough dealing with it himself without everyone jumping in to help. He didn't need that right now. All he wanted was to sleep and bury the nightmare away with other dreams that weren't so hard to face.

Lost in thought, Harry missed the sound of his door opening and closing. He was just drifting off again, into the arms of a warm dream, when he felt the cloth lift off his face. Blinking sleepily, Harry peered at the blurry shadow that was hovering above him. When he saw his glasses being put on his face, Harry knew who it was immediately without having to see him. Draco was the one who had taken his glasses with him.

Draco was halfway on his bed, his knee dipping into the mattress and his hand holding him up above Harry's body. His eyes were narrowed with a determined, angry glint that at first made Harry stiffen in shock and fear. Then it made him angry, like something had snapped inside his head with a crack, and he shoved Draco off his bed and away from him. The boy stumbled onto his feet, with Harry scrambling off his bed to his own with his hands balled into fists.

"What do you _want_?" Harry hissed desperately, wanting Draco out, out of his room and out of his head, and he was willing to cause physical harm to do so. He was _so_ angry now, when just before he was utterly miserable. He wanted to kill Draco for doing this to him, for making him cry especially in front of his best friends, and he wanted to kill him for making promises he didn't even keep for a day. It hurt, hurt just as much as the scars did when they were made; scars that Draco ran away from. Only this time the pain was internal and it wouldn't come out any other way besides from his mouth and eyes. And that was agony for Harry, to writhe so pathetically and he could do nothing about it. He couldn't take a potion to ease it; he couldn't silence it because it was still screaming in his head. No wand could heal it or erase it; it was there, wrenching at his heart and gut like a string with a hook, and nothing was going to make it go away. It? What was it? It was the truth that Harry knew all along. That he was an ugly, pathetic, stupid little boy whom people idolized but could never understand. Because he was different. He was weird and different, with tons of scars to prove it but nothing to make it clearer for people to see. To see and understand and know what he was going through, because surely no one felt this way, or did the things he did, because he was so fucking weird.

"I want to see it," Draco demanded, placing his feet determinedly on the floor. His fists were also clenched at his sides, his robes billowing out around his legs as if daring Harry to approach him and kick him out. Harry was just that daring.

"Get out," Harry seethed between clenched teeth, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Get out!"

"I want to see it!" Draco yelled back, one fist rising in defense. "You owe me that much!"

"I don't owe you anything!" Harry screamed, furious. "I don't owe you jack shit!"

"You do, you fucking bloke," Draco spat, his voice turning flat with fury. "You made me kill my fucking father for you. The least you could do is let me see your back."

The shock that entered Harry's system at Draco's words was worse than a surprise attack of cold water in his face. It was like the night before; like Draco's voice had claws and they had sunk into his skin, too fast and quick to react and dodge the blow. They sank slowly into Harry's skin, past his shoulders and down his arms, where his clenched fists lost their strength and grew slack.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Harry muttered. "I. I forgot about that."

"I didn't," Draco replied tightly, though his voice lacked the edge of anger. Harry felt himself collapsing backwards, not aware that he willed his body to do so, and he sat heavily on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. His mind was swirling with questions now; the anger was no longer holding them back. Why was Draco here? Why did he leave last night if he was here now? Why did he want to see his back? Why, why, why?

"Why?" Harry whispered out loud, feeling broken all over again. He refused to cry though. He lost himself to Hermione. He was not going to lose himself in front of Draco. He already took too much from him.

"Because I need to, Harry," Draco said, and his voice sounded strained, like he was holding back something as well. "Because I need to." His voice cracked in the end.

Harry sighed, placing his face in his hands, and shaking his head at the absurdity of even considering it. His middle finger came in contact with his lightning bolt scar, and he traced it with rough fingers, wishing he could just rub it away.

"Why should I let you?" Harry asked between his fingers, digging his nails into his forehead to counter the pain rising up in his chest. "You left last night, who says you aren't going to leave again?"

Draco was silent for a while and Harry didn't want to raise his head to wonder why. He just wanted to hide behind his hands forever. When Draco didn't reply to the question though, Harry realized that he didn't really want the answer anyway. Draco wasn't making any promises that he wasn't sure he could keep.

"It isn't pretty, Draco," Harry told him, lifting his head slowly from his hands, but looked at the floor. Draco still said nothing and, afraid that he somehow had left when he wasn't looking, Harry quickly looked up. Draco was still standing there, but he was looking away too, at the floor, unmoving. He seemed resolute. Harry, sighing and still wondering why, stood up quickly. Before he lost his nerve, he was tearing off his shirt and turning away from his boyfriend, clenching the material that still wrapped around his arms. There was, again, silence from Draco and Harry hung his head, nibbling on the end of his shirt nervously, and waited for the door to sound. To open and close in Draco's passing as he decided that Harry really was too ugly to look at.

He was surprised to feel gentle fingers touch his back.

"Draco?" Harry squeaked, stopping himself from jerking away in surprise. The fingers continued to search and touch gently, tracing over each nasty curve. They trembled sometimes and every time, Harry braced himself for them to jerk away and to listen to Draco's hurried steps as he ran away from him again. But it never happened. Moments passed as Draco continued to touch his back and Harry let him, lowering his head to bury it in his sweatshirt.

"How did this happen?" Draco asked softly, his voice sounding dry from disuse.

"When Luna and I were captured," he replied, closing his eyes with a swallow. "They called it-."

"The Burning curse," Draco overrode. "People have been trying to press the Ministry into putting it as another Unforgivable."

"Oh," was all Harry managed to say. Draco's fingers were stroking the smooth, unaffected skin, his lower back where small hairs grew. He shuddered.

"But I suppose," Draco said thoughtfully as he played with the small hairs, making Harry groan into his shirt, "that any dark magic should be unforgivable."

"It...It just depends on how you use it," Harry protested, lifting his head slightly. "If you use it for dark purposes, then it's dark magic."

"No, Harry," Draco said firmly. "There are no good purposes for most dark magic. There is nothing good about the Burning curse."

Harry found he could say nothing more, so he just lowered his head in acceptance. Draco's fingers were in his hair now, driving upwards before slowly dripping away down onto his smooth neck and then into the scars again. In more ways than one, Harry was honest when he said that his back was his weak spot. Before he received the scars, he used to love to get back massages, especially from Hermione. They were wonderful for the knots that built along his neck, but it was also because it felt very good. He was sure that no one would ever do that for him again or, for that matter, he would never let anyone come close to doing so.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry whispered, lifting his eyes to stare at the wall before him.

"I'm trying to understand," the boy behind him replied. A hand came in full contact with Harry's back then, fingers spreading across the distorted flesh. Harry felt his eyes close again, sighing softly.

"It kind of makes me...It kind of makes me want to scratch it off..." Draco said wonderingly and Harry laughed softly.

"Me too," he said and his voice cracked without any warning. He ducked his head again, fingers squeezing at eyes that suddenly peaked with tears.

"You know, Harry..." Draco started and only pausing to sigh. "I may not be able to tell you all of my secrets yet..." Hands fell on his shoulders and slowly turned him around. "But thank you for telling me yours."

Harry kept his head ducked, chuckling hoarsely as he tried to wipe at his eyes without making it obvious.

"Hey," Harry choked on tears and laughter. "No problem."

It was also no problem for Draco to easily duck underneath Harry's bowed head and catch his lips - the same way he always did. Hot and open. His lips possessed Harry's, covering them and protecting them as he carried Harry's head back up. Then they were body-to-body, chest-to-chest, and Draco's hands were on Harry's back - hands occasionally trembling with emotion, but stroking the flesh like the scars were not there and it was only smooth and pure. Just like Harry wanted.

Fin


End file.
